Cold
by KristineMcCarty
Summary: Oneshot. Sometimes the weather outside isn’t the culprit for the cold you feel on the inside. Roger reflects on the temperature a few days after Mimi was found in the park. A/N: Revised Formatting. :


**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. No seriously, I don't own anything, except for debt. Take a look at my credit report. I don't even own my child outright yet.**

_How many times had he passed right by her in the park? How many times had his eyes slid from one shapeless person lying on a park bench to the next, never stopping to think: Could that be her? How many times had he heard the mumblings and moans coming from these shapeless individuals, only to turn his gaze the other way? Feeling as if he was intruding on a private moment? There were no private moments for these individuals lying on benches in the park. She could have been found a lot sooner had he maybe taken the time to give these people a second glance, a second thought. But no, he had continued on his way – and quite possibly left her behind every time he cut through the park on his way to the Life Café or any other place he and the rest of his friends frequented._

Mimi whimpered in her sleep and shifted, successfully pulling Roger from his thoughts. He welcomed the distraction. For the past two days and three nights he had done nothing but run through that evening's events over and over in his head, when he should have been sleeping. She shivered, and subconsciously snuggled in closer to the heat that Roger's body was giving off. A small smile graced her lips, and she sighed contentedly. Soon her breathing was deep and even again and Roger was left staring at her.

He remembers Christmas Eve. It was freezing. New York was always cold in the winter, this winter just seemed a little more frozen than all the others before. Maybe it was the absence of her. Maybe it was the absence of Angel. Maybe he was just thinking too much like an effing writer, and it was just a bitterly cold winter night. Nothing more, nothing less.

Collins had just shown up. More Stoli. He didn't even like Stoli that much if he was honest with himself. However, that didn't stop him from drinking it with Mark and Collins, when he could have been using that time to look for her. Instead, it was Maureen. Maureen and Joanne that had found her, near dead, in the middle of the Park. He remembers the jolt he had felt deep in his heart when he heard Maureen scream Mark's name, followed by his own, in that manner. Instant foreboding filled his very being. No one screams out like that just to wish someone a Merry Christmas. No, something was wrong. All it took was one look down from the Fire Escape to the streets below to confirm that. Joanne carrying Mimi, Maureen in distress, and Mimi, so pale... so fucking pale.

He didn't even remember running down the stairs, he didn't remember bursting through the doors to the Apartment Complex. All he knew was that he and Collins were suddenly lifting Mimi from Joanne, Mark somewhere near her feet. Knowing Mark, he desperately wanted to help. Thinking back, it was pointless for him to grab her feet. How heavy were feet anyways? But that was Mark, he just wanted to help and no one, not even Roger knew how to go about doing that.

How was it that Joanne had carried Mimi all by herself from the Park to the front of their building and it was taking both Roger and Collins to support her up the stairs to the loft? Why had he thought of this when they were coming through the front door? Why had he been so concerned over the semantics of the situation at hand? Joanne had got her there, he and Collins had gotten her up the stairs, that's all that should have mattered. But no, he was wasting precious time considering how it was done, rather than how to rectify the over-all problem.

_It was too cold in here. He knew his bed was undoubtedly warmer than her apartment below theirs, hence why she was staying here instead of there, but it was still too cold for her. She was still so pale, and painfully thin. Granted, she had been thinner than most girls since the first time he had laid eyes on her, back when she was one of the new dancers at the Cat Scratch Club. One of the dancers that had to be handcuffed by the others on stage. She had never been this thin though. Not since he had known her._

He remembers going to the "Gentleman's Club" with Mark one night. It seems now like it had been decades ago. How long ago HAD it been? Roger had trouble remembering now. So much had happened between that night and this one. He remembers sitting there, drinking a beer and watching the dancers with Mark. Had he been using then? It was possible, probable even. Yet, he remembers that night with such clarity, in contrast to so many other hazy nights around that same time. He remembers how Mark nudged him, than laughed at the bemused expression on his face when he had turned to look over at him. Apparently he had been staring a little too intently for someone who was supposed to be "taken". He couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty about this now. It had been only a couple months after that that April had killed herself. Rationally, he knows that there had been no way TO know that was going to happen. He still feels slightly guilty none the less. He had been infatuated with Mimi and her vivacious spirit long before he had even known her name, long before she was even his.

Where was that spirit now? He knew it had to be there, somewhere, just below the surface. She had told him earlier today, between chattering teeth, that she hadn't touched her needle in a week or two. Her days had run together, but she was sure it had been at least that long. She was still suffering the withdrawals, and her immune system, already weakened by the Virus, was having a hard time coping between the fever that kept coming and going and the withdrawals that were raging hell on her body. She had stopped taking her AZT while he had been gone. She claims she forgot. He thinks she had been trying to die.

How close he had come that night, to losing her? He had only just realized how much she meant to him, truly meant to him, and it had almost been too late. He wasn't a religious man, he didn't believe in the hereafter, but how could he deny that someone, SOMETHING of a higher power had sent her back to him? She confirmed that she saw Angel, that Angel had sent her home. At the time, no matter how much her words may have touched Collins, he didn't care. He was just glad she was back, and seemingly healthy and so damned alive in his arms. Now, he couldn't help but think how appropriate it was that an angel sent her back to him. THE Angel.

He sighs. Angel. She was having such a hard time coping with that still. It had been a couple of months since she passed, but he had a strong suspicion that Mimi had never really dealt with it. He was sure that seeing Angel like she did, on the brink of death, had given her some amount of closure. It didn't do anything to stop the weeping late at night, when the demons of withdrawal plagued with her mind. Twice, while clutching at her head, almost as if she was attempting to block out the demons, she had cried out Angel's name, begging her to help. Roger wondered if where ever Angel was, she'd heard.

It was worse at night, the withdrawals. They had only gone through two nights of them together, the first night had given them a reprieve. For once everything had settled down, her body was just too damn tired to crave for the poison that had coursed through its veins for so long. Roger had a feeling there was quite a few more of the hellish nights to come, though already she was showing improvement between the two episodes. During the day, she was Mimi, the Mimi he had fallen in love with, for the most part. There was a vacant look in her eyes at times, a dull, deadened look. The look of someone who had been to the very edge, and was drug back unwillingly. Those moments didn't last very long, before she was the ball of energy he had always known. At night, however, she was a sweating, shivering, shaking, crying, whimpering mess. She hadn't turned violent with him yet, save for last night, when she punched him once in the chest, before breaking down completely. He just held her close, hoping that night's episode would be a little shorter than the previous nights and she wouldn't remember these nights months down the road, much like he couldn't remember the majority of his nights of withdrawals.

His heart broke at the thought of her going through this for that week, possibly two, alone. Had she cried out for him then; and he, comfortable in his bed, hadn't been able to hear it? He was sure of it. Hadn't Maureen and Joanne said she begged to come back there when they found her? Hadn't they said she wanted Roger? Guilt ate at his insides.

Mimi shivered again in her sleep, though try as she might, she could get no closer to him than she already was, save for lying beneath him or on top of him. He rolled to his side, pulling her unresisting body flush against his, her back to his chest, and curled around her. He draped his leg over hers, and wrapped his arms practically twice around her small frame. A shudder, deep and unforgiving wracked her body this time, before her breathing once again evened out. She was always so cold. How cold had she been those nights alone in the park, with nothing but her jacket to warm her?

_He remembers how not long after Mark's movie ended, she had slid unceremoniously off the table, coming to rest right in front of him. "I'm cold," she had whispered, barely audible. Roger could barely hear Collins in the background, saying once again that they should probably get Mimi to a hospital, just to get checked over. Mimi shook her head and had said, "I'm fine, really. Just cold." Roger had pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, like he had done so many, many nights before, when she had come knocking on his door, asking for a light for her candle. She had smiled up at him, before wrapping her arms around his waist. He had gotten the hint, and enveloped her in his arms. He wasn't sure how long they had stood there like that, but it didn't seem like very long before Joanne and Maureen had announced they were leaving, and Mark and Collins had retreated into the kitchenette to make tea, and probably drink more Stoli._

"Roger?" came her muffled voice from below him.

"Hmmm?" he responded, looking down.

"You awake?" She asked.

"Mmmhmmm," He answered.

" 'm cold," she whispered, before turning to face him and drawing her hands up in a ball underneath her chin, burrowing further into his chest. "Aren't you cold?"  
He sighed. Was he cold? Sure, the weather outside was freezing, and their loft was barely 10 degrees warmer (he'd have to remember to go down and petition Benny to turn on the heat tomorrow. He should have done that yesterday, or today even. After all, Collins had given them money from the ATM to do it, and he figured if Benny knew Mimi was back, he'd do it with or without the money), but was he cold?

"No, baby. I'm not cold," He finally answered.

"How can you not be? It's freezing in here," her voice was muffled again by his chest.

"I'm not cold anymore, babe. Not anymore."

_He had asked her then, if she wanted to stay with him that night. She nodded quickly, and before she could change her mind, he had pulled her into his room and down on to his bed. Barely letting go of her, even as he had reached down to pull the blankets up over them. She was asleep in minutes, curled up deep in him, and the coldness he had felt earlier that night was gone, banished away just by her presence in his arms._

She got it. He felt it before she acknowledged that she understood. She nodded before answering, "Yeah. Me either."


End file.
